


Breaking Point

by lifeaftercheckmate



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alcohol, Falling Apart, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftercheckmate/pseuds/lifeaftercheckmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when excessive alcohol dissolves the walls that keep Hotch functioning? Rossi is there to help pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

Aaron Hotchner was drunk. The alcohol was dissolving the walls. The rage was mixing with the fear and they were all tangling with images of Jack and Haley and Foyet. The alcohol was dissolving the boundaries that kept these things neatly compartmentalized, away from those he cared about, and locked away from himself. 

Aaron Hotchner was drunk. There's no other reason he would have pulled his gun on Morgan when he startled him. No other reason he would have thrown the gun down the drain grate on the side of the street as he ran. No other reason he would be sitting on the ground, leaned against a brick wall in an alley sobbing in the rain.

It was Rossi who found him. It was always Rossi, from the very beginning. It was Rossi who took him home, Rossi who pulled him out of his wet clothes, Rossi who stood by with a glass of water as he dry heaved into the toilet, Rossi who put him to bed, Rossi who stood and watched him sleep for twenty minutes...just to be sure.

He laid on the couch awake for hours. He was acutely aware of every noise coming from the upstairs bedroom. It was 4:01 and Hotch was pacing. He new Hotch needed the time.

At dawn, Rossi woke up and tried to stretch of the soreness from a night on the couch. Hotch was sleeping slumped in the recliner. Rossi's movements woke him. Neither one said anything for a long while. When Rossi approached him, it was slow and deliberate, telegraphing his every move, though Hotch's ankle holster was empty, gun locked in Rossi's safe. He knelt in front of Hotch, spoke his name.

“Aaron?” There was a pause and then –   
“Gideon,” was the reply, and Rossi understood.  
“You're not Gideon.”   
“I can't do this, Dave. I have nothing left.” Rossi took Hotch's hand in his own and brushed his knuckles with his thumb.  
“Let me be strong for you.” Hotch looked up and met Rossi's eyes. He saw something there he didn't have a word for, something he had caught glimpses of over the years, but Rossi had never been his bare before him.  
“Dave – ”  
“Enough, Aaron,” Rossi said softly. Hotch shook his head and grimaced in pain.  
“I won't accept no as an answer.”  
“How does this work?”  
“Like this.” Rossi stood and pulled Hotch into his arms. He brushed a finger from his temple, across his cheekbone, to his lips. And then he kissed him, one hand on the back of his head, one on the small of his back, like he was loosing him, this one embrace was the only thing he had left to save his friend, the only card left to play, the only chance to bring him back from the edge. He felt Hotch's tears, felt him grit his teeth against him, felt the fists to his chest, but did not let go. And finally, Hotch's body softened. The tears stopped. He'd fought monsters too hard for too long and he was tired – too tired to resist. Slowly, his arms came around Rossi, and he let his head slump to his chest. Rossi lead him over to the couch, held Hotch tight, and they slept.


End file.
